


Love, Love, Love

by lahdolphin



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Age Progression, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 22:01:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lahdolphin/pseuds/lahdolphin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Twenty years goes by in the blink of an eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love, Love, Love

_Some things you'll do for money and some you'll do for fun,  
_ _But the things you do for love are going to come back to you one by one._  
  
 **\- "Love, Love, Love" by the Mountain Goats**

* * *

 

They’re sixteen and Akutagawa can’t breathe.

“What?” Akutagawa says.

“I love you, Jirou,” Atobe repeats. “Is something wrong with your hearing? I said it clearly enough. Or are you merely—”

“Shut up.” Atobe frowns and Akutagawa laughs, “I love you too.”

 

* * *

 

They’re seventeen and Atobe comes out to his parents, holding Akutagawa’s hand in the middle of the restaurant. His father yells and his mother cries. The restaurant staff watches in horror as Atobe’s father points a knife at them, demanding that they leave, refusing to look at them anymore than necessary, saying that they’re abominations.

Atobe spends senior year drifting between houses. Some days he’ll sleep on the spare sofa with the Shishido's, or on the guest bed in Oshitari’s house. But most nights he ends up at Akutagawa’s, whose parents can’t say no when Akutagawa pleads. His parents aren’t happy, but they don’t cut off his access to his bank accounts like Atobe’s parents had.

“I apologize for the inconvenience,” Atobe says, like he always does. At first, it was out of respect. Now, it is slightly more sincere. 

“I‘m cold,” Akutagawa complains. “Come to bed with me.

Akutagawa strips to his underwear, climbs into his mountain of pillows and blankets, and looks at Atobe, who does not move. 

“I want to have sex,” Akutagawa says. Red flush spreads across Atobe’s face and  Akutagawa laughs. 

They fumble under the sheets and there are a few condom issues, and Atobe feels uncharacteristically inadequate despite the breathy noises Akutagawa is making into his pillow. They lie pressed together with wrapped limbs and synchronized breath. 

“Was that alright?” Atobe asks.

“Yeah,” Akutagawa says, smiling and kissing Atobe’s jaw. “‘m sleepy. Cuddle with me.”

“Okay.”

 

* * *

 

They’re eighteen and broke with no where to stay. They rent the cheapest, most run down apartment that Akutagawa’s savings can buy and live off of instant ramen and questionable tap water. The mattress without a frame sits on the floor three feet away from the stove and fridge, the bathroom doubles as their closet, and the ceiling leaks when it rains.

Akutagawa sits on the mattress where they sleep, eat, and make love every day, studying for his finals. Atobe comes home at two in the morning from his shift at the twenty-four hour convince store where he mops floors and fixes the slushy machines for minimum wage. He sets a bag of hot, steaming takeout on the floor next to their bed before shedding his coat.

“We can’t afford this,” Akutagawa says. His stomach rumbles with hunger. He’s been skipping meals so they have enough money to pay the rent. 

“I got a second job in a store that belongs to a chain of commercial coffee shops.” Atobe sits in front of Akutagawa on the mattress-bed. “The local owner came in with a few coworkers and were discussing business. I cut in, told them that what they were doing was wrong—”

“Of course you did,” Akutagawa says.

“He liked what I had to say and offered me a position on his personal team. I start Monday. I got you green-beans and chicken to share.”

“Extra spicy?”

Atobe sighs, “Do you think I’m an idiot?”

Akutagawa smiles happily when Atobe hands him a container of extra spicy green-beans and an order chicken which they split.  

 

* * *

 

They’re nineteen and Akutagawa falls in love with Atobe again. Akutagawa comes home from his night class, wanting nothing more than a hot shower. They don’t have hot water half the time, but he’s hopeful that today the universe may give him a break. 

Atobe is sitting on the bed with paper plates and mismatched plastic bowls filled with food. Akutagawa shakes the snow out of his hair, stamps his boots on the rattling floorboards, and comes inside. 

“What’s all this?” Akutagawa asks. 

“Nothing,” Atobe says. He gestures for Akutagawa to join him and with the motion of his gesture, he reveals his bandaged hands—fingers covered in bandaids and knuckles red.

Akutagawa sits and grasps Atobe’s hands. “You cut yourself,” he says. “And _burned_? I’ll go get some ointment.”

“No.” Atobe pulls back his hands so he can hand Akutagawa a plate of food. “It’s your favorite, correct?”

It can’t be cheap. Fresh fruits and vegetables are expensive and they haven’t once been able to afford real meat. But most importantly, Atobe has never cooked. The most complicated thing Akutagawa saw Atobe make was cereal.

“Why?” Akutagawa asks. “You hurt yourself making me food.”

“Because I love you,” Atobe says simply.

Akutagawa feels like he could cry. Instead he eats the best meal he’s had in years, showers with Atobe under a spray hot water, then falls asleep wrapped in his arms and the words “I love you” on his lips.

A few months later,  they move out of the hole-in-the-wall apartment. Their new apartment has actual furniture which they spend all night putting together, a separate room for their bed, a shower with hot water, and concealed wires that don’t heat up and spark. 

Atobe takes Akutagawa in the bed several times, in multiple positions until Akutagawa can’t come anymore and Atobe has uncountable red marks of possession and pleasure on his skin. Atobe presses into Akutagawa’s back as he arches, kisses his neck, brings him to his peak and holds him tight.

Later, Akutagawa takes Atobe in the bath, pressing him up against the porcelain and splashing the lukewarm, soapy water over its edges. Atobe comes with Akutagawa’s hand on his cock and a soft gasp, “ _Jirou_.” 

In the morning, Akutagawa takes Atobe again in the kitchen, or Atobe takes him by pushing him to the floor and riding him until they’re both breathless. They eat on the floor, too tired walk to the chairs and table, and feed each other with their hands.

After class, Akutagawa comes home and lies across the sofa where Atobe is reading instructions for the television. Touching turns to grabbing, soft lips to passionate tongues, their hearts beating faster and faster until they feel like they’re going to burst at the seams. Akutagawa lets Atobe take him slowly, deeply, until they’ve lost track of time.

 

* * *

 

They’re twenty and the coffee shop promotes Atobe to the national headquarters. He wakes up earlier, comes home later, talks a little less about his days. Akutagawa stops counting the dinners he eats alone and the mornings he wakes up cold, without Atobe’s lips at his neck and insistent hardness on his thighs.

Atobe comes home on Thursday, tugs his tie loose and wanders into the bathroom. Akutagawa sits in the tub of steaming water and looks up at him. Atobe strips slowly under Akutagawa’s watchful eyes, then steps into the tub to sink down into the water between Akutagawa legs. 

“I’m sorry,” Atobe says. 

“‘bout what?” Akutagawa asks.

“Don’t play ignorant, Jirou. It never suited you.” Atobe wets his hands and uses them to slick back Akutagawa’s hair. Akutagawa reaches out and holds onto Atobe’s waist, urging him closer until they’re pressed close and kissing.

“I miss you,” Akutagawa says. “I don’t care how much money you’re making. I just want things to be like they used to be.”

“I’ll try harder. I promise.”

 

* * *

 

They’re twenty-one and Atobe’s father calls for the first time in four years. Atobe is trapped under Akutagawa, who tickles his sides until Atobe is laughing and crying and begging for him to stop. 

“Only if you say it,” Akutagawa says with an evil grin.

“Never,” Atobe gasps.

“Say it.” Akutagawa moves to Atobe’s underarms and he begins to kick, writhing with slightly hysteric laughter. 

“Okay, okay!” Atobe shouts. Akutagawa stalls, looking at Atobe hesitantly as he calms down enough to say, “I am incapable of fixing plumbing and I’m sorry for flooding the bathroom. Are you happy?”

Akutagawa hums. “I’m satisfied.”

Atobe smiles, flips Akutagawa onto his back, and kisses him deeply. His phone rings and he stops to reach for it, ignoring Akutagawa’s gentle kisses to his neck and his wandering hands that sneak under his shirt. 

“Who is it?” Akutagawa asks. Atobe does not answer. “Keigo. What’s wrong?”

Atobe moves off of Akutagawa and stares at his phone until the number disappears. He feels sedated. Akutagawa comes over, wraps his arms around Atobe, and rests his head on Atobe’s shoulder. He rubs up and down Atobe’s back, waiting for him to speak.

“I wonder what he wanted,” Atobe says. “My father.”

“He didn’t leave a message,” Akutagawa says. “It was probably nothing. Maybe a wrong number.”

“Probably.”

The following morning, Atobe reads in the paper that his mother has passed. 

 

* * *

 

They’re twenty-two and Akutagawa gets a job at an elementary school. He loves kids and finds happiness in his new life that is incomparable to his happiness with Atobe. His coworkers ask him out to drinks and try to set him up with the librarian who is the same age as him. He doesn’t know how to tell them that he’s gay, in love with the estranged son of the most powerful man in Japan, and currently living with said man. So he says nothing and turns down their invitation for dinner with her.

He comes home with paint on his pants and a piece of a crayon lodged in his shoe. He makes a pot of decaf coffee and grades spelling tests, carefully placing stickers and writing notes to parents of students who aren’t doing quite as well as he would like. 

“Hello,” Atobe says as he comes through the door. “I’m home.”

“Welcome home,” Akutagawa says. “You’re home early. Really, really early. Did you get fired?”

“No.” Atobe laughs easily, gets a cup of coffee, and sits next to Akutagawa. He kicks his feet up onto the table and reaches for the remote. “Do you mind if I watch the news?”

“Go ahead.”

Ten minutes later, Atobe says, “I was thinking about getting a dog. I had a spaniel as a child that I was quite fond of.”

“A puppy or a dog?” Akutagawa asks. “There’s a really big different.”

“Which would you prefer?” Atobe asks, turning his head to look at him. 

Akutagawa takes a moment to think about it. “Puppy.”

 

* * *

 

They’re twenty-three and aren’t surprised by Atobe’s promotion. Atobe’s business instincts are a natural gift and his supervisors have been discussing salary increases and open positions with him for several months. On Friday afternoon it’s official, and Atobe is the youngest person to hold the office of Advisor to the Vice-President. 

Atobe uses his first paycheck to buy Federer, their puppy who has quickly grown into a reasonably sized dog, a bed which they put in the living room. He uses what’s left to buy Akutagawa a new bag for work. It holds all of his paper and the extra supplies he likes to bring so the underprivileged kids don’t feel left out or embarrassed

“It has your name on the inside,” Atobe says.

“I love it,” Akutagawa says. “I love you.”

Akutagawa sets the bag aside so he can kiss Atobe properly, holding his jaws in his hands and prying open his mouth with his tongue. Atobe presses Akutagawa down into the sofa and takes him there, without hesitation, and it’s perfect. 

 

* * *

 

They’re twenty-four and Akutagawa can’t remember what Atobe smells like. He presses his face into Atobe’s pillow, but the crisp, sharp scent is no longer there. He wishes he had one of his shirts, but Atobe took everything with him when he got on the plane. His toothbrush is gone from it’s cup and his razor is no longer mixed with Akutagawa’s in the medicine cabinet. 

Akutagawa stays up late to Skype with his lover. Sometimes Atobe answers his calls and sometimes he doesn’t. Akutagawa knows Atobe is busy, but he’s lonely and his thoughts are getting the best of him. 

“You still love me, right?” Akutagawa asks.

“Why would you ask that?” Atobe replies. It probably isn’t harsh, but it sounds like it.

“Never mind. I’m just tired. I’m gonna go to bed. Night.”

“Jir—”

Akutagawa feels like a child. He clutches Atobe’s pillow and falls asleep with Federer at his feet. It’s not the same.

He wakes up and he is not alone.

“You came back,” Akutagawa says. He clutches Atobe’s shirt and tugs him close, afraid this is a dream.

“I came back,” Atobe says.

It’s not a dream.

 

* * *

 

They’re twenty-five and spend Sunday making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Akutagawa sits on the counter, drinking milk and making sure Atobe doesn’t cut himself with the knife like he tends to do. Atobe feeds small triangles to Akutagawa, saying the brand of jam and peanut butter he used. 

“And the bread?” Akutagawa always asks.

Atobe makes up something that sounds ridiculous and foreign, and Akutagawa laughs every time.

“I think this one is the best,” Akutagawa says. “And I’m not just saying that because this is, like, the hundredth sandwich I’ve had in the last two hours.”

Atobe lets Akutagawa feed him the rest of the sandwich. Atobe licks the peanut butter off of Akutagawa’s fingers and Akutagawa sucks the jam from Atobe’s wrist. Their fingers thread into hair as Atobe steps between Akutagawa legs. 

“Are peanut butter and jelly sandwiches an aphrodisiac?” Akutagawa asks after a long kiss that’s all slow tongue and firm lips. 

“I don’t believe they are,” Atobe says.

“Shame. Guess I just really like you.”

“I really like you too.”

Akutagawa laughs, “Good, ‘cause you’re stuck with me forever.” 

 

* * *

 

They’re twenty-six and the only ones without children. Mukahi has a young daughter who doesn’t let go of his leg, Shishido has a son at each hip (“Twins!” he had shouted into the phone when he called at four in the morning), Ohtori is trying to have one, and the others all have their own families.

“We have Federer,” Akutagawa says when Atobe brings it up in bed.

“You would make a good father,” Atobe says. “And to clarify, I mean to humans, not puppies.”

“I’m sorry I can’t have kids,” he says. 

“Don’t ever say that.” Atobe turns to kiss Akutagawa shoulder. “I forbid it.” He sits up and kisses his lips. “You’re far more than that to me.”

Akutagawa runs his fingers through Atobe’s hair. “There’s adoption,” Akutagawa says. 

 

* * *

 

They’re twenty-seven and paint the walls of the child’s room pale yellow. Atobe has paint on his face and Akutagawa has paint everywhere. When they finish, after hours of inappropriate name calling and paint flinging, they open the large window overlooking the backyard of their new house. It’s a two story house with a white picket fence and the normality of it all makes Akutagawa unexplainably happy.

“Gakuto wants to have dinner on Friday,” Atobe says.

“I know. His wife called when you were at work,” Akutagawa says. He doesn’t flinch when Atobe wraps his arms around him from behind. “Ryou said he can make it if they find a baby-sitter. His kids are on some website and they can’t find anyone to hire.”

“They’re that bad?”

“Apparently.”

Atobe laughs and sways them back and forth. “What do you want to be called?” he asks thoughtfully. “By our child.”

“I don’t know. Dad. Daddy. Whatever they want. Do you have a name?”

“Father is too formal. I was thinking Papa.” Atobe rests his chin on Akutagawa’s shoulder. With a smile, he asks, “They?”

Akutagawa flushes red. “I don’t know. Shut up.”

Atobe kisses his cheek. 

 

* * *

 

They’re twenty-eight and the adoption papers go through. On Sunday morning, they bring home a three year old girl whose name is Natsuki. They put Atobe’s name on the papers, but decide that when she’s old enough, she can pick either of their names, or combine them. 

“Maybe we’ll be married by then,” Akutagawa jokes. It’s not really a joke.

Natsuki loves Federer more than any of the toys they buy her, and she loves their peanut butter and jelly sandwiches more than she likes ice-cream which is truly amazing because she loves ice-cream. They repaint her room blue when they learn that she likes blue the most. Oshitari comes over and paints scenes on her walls. Natsuki tugs at Oshitari’s hair, which makes Atobe double over with laughter.

When the room is done and Natsuki is asleep for her nap, the three men stand in the kitchen. Atobe sips at his wine while Oshitari drinks a bottle of cheap light beer Akutagawa picked up at the grocery store earlier that morning.

“You’ve changed,” Oshitari says, pointing his bottle at Atobe. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you laugh so easily.”

“I see it all the time,” Akutagawa says.

“Yes, well, not all of us are sleeping with him.” 

Atobe makes a dignified noise, a huff that’s reminiscent of their time in high school. “You’re so crude, Yuushi.”

“Ah, there’s the old Keigo,” Oshitari says.

Akutagawa laughs, then goes check on Natsuki.

 

* * *

 

They’re twenty-nine and Natsuki says she loves them for the first time. Akutagawa spins her around until Federer is barking and running in circles with them. Natsuki laughs, then asks for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. 

Atobe comes home late and finds the two lying on the sofa, asleep. He undoes his tie, flicks off the television, steps around Federer, and picks up Natsuki. She nuzzles her face into his chest as his arms hold her. Akutagawa turns in his sleep.

“Hmm? Keigo?” Akutagawa grumbles. “Ugh. Fell asleep.”

“Stay there,” Atobe whispers.

He takes Natsuki to her bed, tucking her in and kissing her forehead, then returns downstairs. He scoops up Akutagawa and tucks him in too. Atobe showers, reads over his emails at his desk, and crawls into bed next to Akutagawa.

“She said she loves us,” Akutagawa says.

“You’re awake?”

“Yeah. Your laptop is bright.”

“Sorry. She loves us?”

“Hmm-mm.”

Atobe kisses Akutagawa’s forehead, then his mouth, and they find themselves wrapped in one another. 

 

* * *

 

They’re thirty and Hiyoshi takes Natsuki for the weekend. Natsuki cries when she has to let go of them and Akutagawa feels bad about doing this until their daughter meets Hiyoshi’s son, who has a large bag of legos he offers to share with her. Hiyoshi and his wife wave as they drive away with the children in the back.

Atobe and Akutagawa reach the bedroom after a series of lazy kisses and lingering touches. Akutagawa rolls on top of Atobe, tugging at his shirt and pants, sucking on his neck until he draws a long moan from Atobe’s throat.

“Want you so bad,” Akutagawa says.

“Then take what you want,” Atobe says.

Akutagawa grips the headboard when he slides into Atobe, who’s moaning and grasping Akutagawa’s shoulder for some type of tether. It’s rough and hard and loud, and it has Atobe arching his back off the bed in record time, and it makes Akutagawa go silent when he reaches his peak. 

They collapse into the sheets, kissing whatever skin their open mouths can reach.

“Shower next,” Atobe pants. “I want to fuck you into the wall until your legs are shaking and you can’t stand.”

“Remember when you were shy about sex?”

“I was never shy about sex.”

“Really? Because I remember having to coerce you into bed with me.”

Atobe hits Akutagawa with a pillow. Akutagawa returns to hit and Atobe gawks at him, astonished that Akutagawa would resort to a pillow fight to prove his point, even if he was the one who started it.

Akutagawa smiles, jumps out of bed, and runs into the bathroom. 

 

* * *

 

They’re thirty-one and sit Natsuki down after dinner. She’s six now and looks nothing like them for obvious reasons, but she mimics them in ways that make them proud. She holds her head high like Atobe and treats others kindly like Akutagawa. She smiles like Atobe and holds her fork like Akutagawa. 

“Natsuki,” Akutagawa says. “How would you like a little brother or sister?”

Natsuki frowns. “But I didn’t think you could have babies. Hiyoshi-kun told me a baby is made when—”

“I’m calling Wakashi,” Atobe says. “The things his son is teaching our daughter. I swear—”

“Language,” Akutagawa says, reminding him gently. Atobe leaves in a fury. Akutagawa looks at Natsuki and asks again, “Do you want a sibling?”

“If Papa and Daddy want one, then I do too!”

She smiles and is missing a few teeth. Federer barks.

 

* * *

 

They’re thirty-two and Seiji does not like them. They clear out Atobe’s office space for their son, who is four and distant. He does not talk to Natsuki despite her best efforts to befriend her new brother. Akutagawa brings Seiji peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but he doesn’t like them with the crust and Akutagawa can’t seem to get it right no matter what he does.

Atobe rubs his hands into the knots on Akutagawa’s back. Their hair is still dripping wet from their shower. Seiji and Natsuki are asleep down the hall.

“He hates me,” Akutagawa says. “Natsuki had rough patches too, but she warmed up quicker. She was a year younger, but it shouldn’t be this hard. Can he return us? Do adopted kids get that option? I don’t want him to return us, Keigo.”

“I highly doubt it.”

“I’m sorry for complaining. What were you saying about work? Another promotion? What can the Senior Vice President even be promoted to in a family run company? Senior-Senior Vice President?”

“Yes.”

Akutagawa laughs and a little of his tension disappears.

Three months after bringing Seiji home, they hear a knock at their bedroom door. Akutagawa turns in his sleep, says, “It’s your turn,” and goes back to sleep. Atobe gets up and opens the door, expecting Natsuki to say Federer is too loud or she wet the bed again. But it’s Seiji standing there with his blanket.

“Seiji,” Atobe says, squatting to match his eye level, “what’s wrong?” 

“I had a nightmare. I wanna sleep with Daddy.”

“Not Papa?” he teases.

Seiji shakes his head, runs past Atobe, and jumps onto the bed. Akutagawa makes a startled noise, but is quick to realize who has jumped on him. He wraps the blankets around Seiji and tells him a bedtime story he used to tell Natsuki.

 

* * *

 

They’re thirty-three and Atobe proposes after putting the children in bed. Akutagawa stops washing the dishes, nearly dropping the plate he’s holding. Atobe calmly reaches into his pocket and pulls out a box with two gold rings. 

“Keigo, you’re the best!” Akutagawa shouts. He wraps his arms Atobe’s neck and kisses him senseless. Federer begins to bark, which will probably wake the kids, but Akutagawa doesn’t care because Atobe literally has him off his feet.

“I love you,” Akutagawa says, kissing his face. “Love you so much!”

“Can I interpret this as a yes?”

“Yes, you idiot!”

Atobe would have done it years ago, when they were younger and stupider, but money had been tight. After that, it seemed childish. Now that he has a new definition of childish, courtesy of his children, it was obvious that this was long over due.

Natsuki comes into the kitchen, holding Seiji’s hand. She rubs her eyes. “Why are you screaming?” she asks. “You woke up Seiji.”

“Nu-uh,” Seiji says. “Natsu woke me up.”

“Nu-uh!”

“Hu-uh!”

“Nu-uh!”

Akutagawa laughs and breaks away from Atobe. He picks up Seiji and takes Natsuki’s hand since she’s too big for him to pick up now. He begins to lead them up the stairs to their room. Looking over his shoulder, he says, “I’ll deal with _you_ later.”

Atobe sighs and finishes the dishes.

 

* * *

 

They’re thirty-four and Atobe takes Seiji and Natsuki in to work on Friday for take your child to work day. They draw on the large windows in his office with special markers, and go around distributing the flowers from his vases to random employees. At lunch they demand french fries, so Atobe brings in food for the entire execute board and arranges lunch for the rest of the employees.

“Your children are wonderful,” his assistant says. “When will we meet their mother?”

“We don’t have a mother,” Natsuki says. Seiji nods in agreement. 

“Excuse me?” his assistant asks. She looks at the ring on Atobe’s finger.

“We have Papa and Daddy,” Natsuki goes on. 

His assistant looks horrified, but Atobe can only laugh.

 

* * *

 

They’re thirty-five and spend the day at the park with everyone. Hiyoshi’s son and Natsuki kiss under the slide when they think no one is looking, but Mukahi’s daughter sees and shouts that they have cooties at anyone who will listen. Shishido’s twin sons are horrible and spend the entire time pulling their father’s pants down. Seiji touches Ohtori’s wife’s enlarged belly and says, “There’s a baby in there?” 

Akutagawa sits down on the picnic blanket next to Atobe. He runs through what he needs to do—check spelling tests, write out math problems, clean his ring because it got dirty when he helped Shishido pull his kids out of the mud. 

“You’re frowning,” Atobe says. “Is something wrong?”

“Just thinking,” Akutagawa says, quickly smiling. “I think Seiji wants to try a sport. He mentioned it at breakfast.”

“Tennis.”

“Only if he wants to.”

“You’re no fun. We could turn Natsuki and Seiji into champions.” Atobe watches Natsuki and Hiyoshi’s son yell at Mukahi’s daughter, and looks as Seiji runs off to join Oshitari’s son on the swings. “Only if they want to,” he concedes with a smile.

Akutagawa leans over and kisses him. Mukahi’s daughter shouts that they have cooties. 

 

* * *

 

They’re thirty-six and they feel old. Atobe’s skin is not as tight as it once was. His muscles have gone flatter and his eyes wrinkle in the right light. Gray hair is beginning to show and though neither of them have pointed it out, they both know it’s there. Atobe is slower to flip Akutagawa onto his back and fuck him into the mattress. Akutagawa rarely presses Atobe against the counter and goes down on his knees anymore. But they do not love each other any less, that much is obvious.

When Natsuki and Seiji are with Shishido for the weekend, Atobe and Akutagawa sit on their bed and eat cheap take-out. Twenty years has gone by in the blink of an eye. 

“Remember when we had that crappy apartment?” Akutagawa asks. “You’d bring home Chinese whenever something good happened.”

“There was a wire in the shower, one that sparked whenever the power kicked on and off during storms.”

“Yes!” Akutagawa laughs. “I always thought I was going to die when that happened.”

Sometime after eating, Akutagawa finds himself seated in Atobe’s lap, wrapped impossibly close to each other. Atobe’s arms almost circle his torso completely and Akutagawa is afraid to claw at Atobe’s back any harder in fear of breaking skin. Akutagawa moans into Atobe’s neck when he sinks in slowly with a sharp burn that consumes him.

They make love once, then again in the bath. They head down to the kitchen to drink wine and eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. They know they don’t have to cut off the crust because the kids aren’t there, but Akutagawa insists it tastes better that way so Atobe cuts the crust of anyways.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

 


End file.
